Doubt
by bowtiesandredhair
Summary: One-shot: Set directly after The Doctor's Wife, the quiet cover of night guides Amy down the repetitive path of which her fatigue and restlessness always leads her to.


_**"Suspicion is far more to be wrong than right; more often unjust than just. It is no friend to virtue, and always an enemy to happiness."**_

* * *

><p>Darkness shrouded around the room. She lay awake and her eyes slowly glanced to each shadow as they taunted her. Her mind had been throbbing the entire night, her fatigue had bred with restlessness, and the voice had screeched its nails down her skin every moment she closed her eyes. All of them had been wooing her for as long as she could remember. The fear trickled through her spine and spread with the settling bitterness.<p>

Though she wasn't bitter. She couldn't be. She had no right to be. Or at least, somewhere, could it be justified? Amy released a frustrated breath and she dragged her legs from the bed, and placed her bare feet against the cold, cold floor. Her hands clutched the ends of the blanket that lay dangled over the edge, and her eyes closed tightly in thought.

Amy could hear him; his words were as clear as if he was still speaking them, and she felt it fester in beneath her chest. The frustration had slowly crept its way up to her throat, and she humored to voice it. But it hadn't even been acknowledged. And what ever was? _What depths were reached besides the depths of which he grasped for only his glory?_ She sighed, and shook her head. She didn't like thinking this way. _No. _She hated it. She hated the nights she spent thinking, and deducing, and analyzing every aspect of her friendship—relationship, whatever the hell it was, that she shared with the Doctor. Thoughts like that would make her crazy, or already had.

She could hear the voice, no matter how she tried to ignore it, it was heard and it would bark its case and she would believe it. She would believe it. She would fucking believe it was right. The way it whispered in her ear, "_He doesn't trust you_." And after all that time, she believed it, and she would remember events that validated the thought. She wasn't jealous, although the situation didn't necessarily _weaken _that part of her blackened flesh, but the look on his face, the way he ran to that madwoman's side, the way his hearts seemingly broke for her, his tears for her-_No. _Amy clawed her fingers through her hair and exhaled heavily.

She would not allow herself to be that person. That madwoman was his TARDIS, and logic justified whatever feelings or emotions that had developed between the two. He wasn't the ex-boyfriend whom she still kept friendly terms with. He was her best friend, and strictly that. It wasn't jealousy, it was. . . protectiveness. Yes, she was protective of him. As she had watched him slowly unhinge from his calm and logical front, it was so apparent to her that he was emotionally compromised. And all it had been was her simply worrying that soon he would make a mistake that he would regret more than anything. She was there for him. It was her responsibility to be there for him, to be the logic when he had none. To be the comfort when he was alone, the shoulder his tears sunk into, without restraint or guilt. She was supposed to be his person, just as he was that person for her. _But no_, the voice whispered, _she wasn't that person at all_. All of those humoring walls, those nonchalant ignores, he never seemed to let her past the mask of his god complex. That was all she wanted. She swore she wouldn't care how frequent he would fall on his knees, she still would've liked to believe that it was her name he'd call for, and she would run to his side and cradle his head as he lay restless and weak, she would stroke his hair and she would settle him.

But even then, she didn't necessarily believe her mindless dreaming, her childish hope that if she only waited long enough, he would finally see her. Though as much as she wanted to believe she was as much a part of his life as he was to her, that sickening feeling festered until she was left so degraded in her mind that she was nothing. _And she was, wasn't she?_ Some helpless little girl he stumbled upon and swooped in to save. What was all it for? If he couldn't trust her, if he couldn't lean on her, what the hell was it all for?

Amy scoffed, and pressed her fingertips into her head. It was seeing a small animal caught in the strong pull of the water, he dove in to save it before it drowned. She was just that crying child he intervened to comfort, before leaping off to someone whom could comfort him. But what use was she to him now that she had grown up? She couldn't think of a reason, and her mind still throbbed with the look on his face. How much he seemingly showed such depths of love for his 'soul mate'. She had only seen the faintest of that look once before, and even that she tried to bury away, more afraid-wait, _aware _of how it could sprout to the same. River Song. His impulsive, feisty River Song, whom he only pretended to disapprove of, all the while she excited him. It only seemed a moment ago he was running from her, dragging his Pond along, trying to show her that the woman of his future wouldn't control him and he would run faster so long as his ginger was beside him. Hadn't he just been running away from his future, from River, though Amy supposed that eventually that direction would change into running _towards_. She just never believed she would feel this disgruntled over it. She didn't care, not in the way it appeared to herself. It didn't matter. The Doctor was always meant for more than a stupid, little Scottish girl. How could she ever think he would want to run with her when he could wait only a moment for better to come along? Come along. _Come along, Pond! _She grumbled and slowly stood over the warm bed.

With a heated sigh, she began pacing around the room, her mind still throbbing as she rubbed her cold hands together. She knew him, or at least she felt like she did. He was her imaginary friend, her raggedy man, her Doctor. She must have known him at some point. Starship UK, she protected him from himself and saw what he couldn't. That Dalek debacle with Churchill, she talked Paisley human by speaking vaguely of her feelings for the Doctor. (But no, that was a different time then, and she quickly swallowed the thoughts of the emotions she once had for him.) Venice, she risked her life just to impress him. Though she always felt herself burning up just to impress him. _God,_ _how pathetic._

Every night led her down the same road with the same conclusions and the same feeling. The Doctor didn't need her anymore, and he probably didn't want her. She had become that helpless civilian who was thrown to the background when things finally got interesting. And she waited and waited for that day when he'd turned to _her _and take her hand and tell her to _run_. Oh, she would run everywhere and she could fight anything, if only he would see she wasn't that same little runt with Prisoner Zero in her head. She was alone and it hurt, but she grew from that and over all of that time, she grew untouchable from that too. She learned to be strong and she was, and even if that wasn't enough, she would rather take his blatant words than his sweet, condescending smile.

His hugs. Oh, his hugs. _Did they ever mean anything?_ The way he snugged his arm around her, the way he cheerfully beamed, "_Come along, Pond!_" and he took her hand. What had happened to those days and could she possibly be more of a pathetic person for holding her breath and believing that it would only take so many days for them to return. _It's time to stop waiting._

Amy groaned to herself, and she knew as long as she remained the background of his adventures, no longer the person whom he clumsily wished to impress, it was inevitable for her to be waiting and the irrelevance in that had already woken her in the middle of the night.

She would leave, then. It would take no more than a few words to convince her simpleton husband and then she could run back to the miserable reality and at least pretend it was something. Anything was better than waiting to be wanted by someone she shouldn't want wanting her and by someone who never would the way she shouldn't have been. Every night she could work herself into that mindset. _I'm leaving. _And it would build in her throat and raise sweat in her palm and she could feel herself walking towards the rest of her life, all for her pride, returning to her freedom-scented imprisonment.

Though tonight was somehow different from the rest. Tonight she walked down the same thoughts and simmered in the same bitterness, earnestly keeping it personal and...messy. Yet something happened that was quite different from the rest. Amy paused in her pacing, and she listened to whatever innocent thought tripped inside of her head, and she realized something.

A bird. A caged bird and why it sings the most beautifully, heartbreaking lifesong. If it spent its entire life suppressed in a dark room with only the faintest dream of the free, outside air, what would it do if it was given the choice to free another bound to the same fate? Would it allow its bitterness to relish in the injustice, uncompromising for sympathy as it believed it was given none for itself? Or perhaps...

She would free him, in the same manner of which he continuously tried to free her. Though she wondered if her decision was merely leapt by the adrenaline of the thought, she still clutched her elbows and laid out the words. They had to be effortlessly delivered, and sincere. It was her turn to lead him to the place of which she could release him. (If she ever had him, but no, she would consider that on another night, and even then she shouldn't) The scare he had when that Minotaur moved to kill her, and he saved her by the skin of her teeth and freed her the first chance he was given. He sacrificed whatever dream or comfort he could possibly have had and he released her before she was entirely poisoned. It must not have been thought of, his companions poisoning him. But she watched him run restlessly (and with that never-failing _smile_) as he tried to protect her from his 'carelessness'. How careless had she been with him?

Amy firmly shook her head and her arms dropped. No more thinking. Thinking would only make it worse. The words were already there and had been there floating beside them all the while. _Because you're still breathing. _She felt herself drift out of the room, and slowly she made her way down the shadowed hallway to the console room.

_Because you deserve better._

The quiet stillness of night wrapped around the walls like a gentle, warm blanket. Slowly, she brushed her hand across each odd-shaped doodad button and knickknack lever, and a light smile spread across her face as the TARDIS quietly hummed, spinning and twirling each contraption as soon as her fingertips left it. _What a moron she was. How conceited_. What made her ever believe she was worth any of this? _He came back. _Whatever bitterness plagued her in the dark and silence of night, she led herself here, even as the walls of her composure were slowly torn down from within. Despite it all, the days were finished, and she had to accept that and be all right with it. Anything else, she hoped her future self would appear and slap her to the ground for how conceited she allowed herself to become, and she felt her stubbornness would help keep it steady and strong. Her time was over, and there would be no bitterness for the days that would never come. He was her best friend, but she couldn't allow herself to be that selfish. If every night led her justifying her anger as it bred into resentment for her imaginary friend, she would end it all before that line was crossed.

She would tell him in the morning of her choice. That, she had decided on. She wouldn't allow herself to hate him, nor him to grow overly attached to her to the point where he allowed sentiments to cloud his judgment. The threads that bound them together, whatever exactly they were, were to be-

As she thoughtlessly twirled in the faint, blue light. Her eyelids lightly fluttered open and she stopped herself at the quick sight of his face and his figure barely standing out of view. Amy nervously chuckled, and brought her hand up to self-consciously scratch her head. His arms were crossed, and through the shadows, though it was difficult, she thought she saw a faint smile on his face.

"You haven't been sleeping much lately, have you?" His tone was strange to her; soft, and yet distant as he remained still.

She hesitated, and something festered up her throat and leapt off her tongue; a lie. "Actually, I have. Which is a bit odd since I used to be such an insomniac."

"You look tired." murmured the Doctor, and slowly he walked up the spiraling staircase that led up to the glass floor where she stood. "_Very _tired."

Her lips pressed together, and she forced a careless shrug. "Sort of a long day, gives that impression, I guess." And she began to nonchalantly drift back to her room. "Good night, Doctor." She uttered quickly as she caught him approaching her in the corner of her eye, yet he gently took hold of her arm and swept her back.

"_Wait, Pond._"

He twirled her into his chest, and her chin inadvertently settled on his shoulder. She could feel his steady, quiet breaths scatter across her ear, and his heartbeats as they lightly jumped through his shirt. They stood there silently for what seemed like forever, or at least to her, she thought. Until suddenly he smoothed his right arm around her waist and slipped his other hand in hers. She thought to pull away in a riled manner, or perhaps with a shirking air, but her mind seemed to be running off confused and there wasn't enough time to decide, although the seconds poured through. Amy just let him hold her, perhaps too closely, and tempt her thoughts to roam wherever his touch led.

"_Dance with me_."

And before her mind could muster what it was he meant, he began to softly sway in place, and she followed. The walls around them grew even more silent, as if watching so intently to the two trees that stood together, both caught in the same wind. Minutes spilled away from their dance, and thoughts went with them. For the time being, as he nuzzled his face into the nook between her jawline and shoulder, he would hold her too close (and inhale the scent of her hair). For the time being, as she nuzzled her face into the nook between his jawline and shoulder, she would hold him too close (and concentrate on the sound of his heartbeats).

Both thoughtlessly swaying to the same rhythm. Free.


End file.
